Truth's Expression
by Isaki
Summary: Grissom has a quote for every situation, and it makes people believe he's witty and smart.


bFandom: /b CSI  
  
bPairing: /b Grissom/Sara.  
  
bRating: /b R  
  
bDisclaimer:/b They're not mine, and I'm sure everybody's happy about that. I didn't use a beta, not because I have too much confidence but because I have too little when it comes to situations like this one.  
  
bNotes:/b Minor spoilers for Invisible Evidence. This thing was inspired by spoilers for Butterflied. I don't mention anything about that last one though, so no need to be scared.  
  
bSummary:/b Grissom has a quote for every situation, and it makes people believe he's witty and smart.  
  
Truth's Expression  
  
A long night is finally over. Sara cringes when she turns into the parking lot of her building and spots Christmas lighting in a neighbor's window. She's lived in the South all her life. The season shouldn't sneak up on her like this anymore.  
  
The keys to her door feel cold against the palm of her hand, forming a nice contrast with the temperature in the hall. Inside her apartment the air is stuffy, and thick as breath. She yearns for a cold shower, and wishes, not for the first time, that she cared less about wasting energy. She's willing to bet that even the environmentalist next door has no problems with leaving his air conditioning on all day and most of the night.  
  
Sara's mother's untimely death and her own years in the field of forensics have taught her to step inside immediately, quickly shut the door and lock it again before doing anything else. It's more of a routine now than caution, so when she turns around right into the silhouette of a man standing in her doorway, she can't suppress a startled yelp. Then she sees the light in the hallway catch traces of a beard on the side of the man's face, and she relaxes for a moment, her head spinning with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Then she tenses up again.  
  
"What do you want?" she asks, the venom in her voice more than just irritation about getting spooked.  
  
Grissom frowns, but it's not his usual mixture of confusion and disappointment. "You're still angry," he simply states, surprising her. Catching her off-guard like this appears to amuse him, but the humor in his eyes only infuriates her more.  
  
"Look, if you're waiting for me to ask you to come in - It's not going to happen." She tries to stare him down, but she suspects she might as well have spoken to pre-surgery Grissom on one of his bad days. Her words have no visible impact at all. He doesn't know that sometimes she still wishes she could be more like him; Grissom is the only one who knows what goes on inside his head.  
  
Frustrated, Sara starts to back away, meaning to close the door and lock him out. Grissom chooses that moment to close his hand around her wrist, and it's her turn to look confused. "What are you -"  
  
He leans into her, his eyes watching hers until he captures her lips with his own. His other hand slides up her shoulder to the back of her head, making it almost impossible for her to turn away. Surprise turns into indignation, melts down to sensual anticipation. Sara stumbles back into something that gives way, and when she hears the sound of a door slamming shut she opens her eyes to see he has her pinned against the inside of it. Looks like he wasn't planning on waiting for an invitation.  
  
"No," she says, fighting for control over herself and the situation. She twists her arm to break free of the hold he has on her and pushes past him, not meeting his eyes until she's at a distance she considers safe. They stare at each other, standing seven feet apart in the darkness of her apartment, and she waits for him to apologize.  
  
The apology never comes. She should know better by now.  
  
"You don't get to do this," she tells him. "You don't get to just drop by and expect me to forgive you and allow you to spend the night." Not this time.  
  
"You think that's why I came here?" he asks, and his tone of voice is so similar to the one he uses as her supervisor in the office that she starts to doubt if the kiss he just gave her happened at all.  
  
"Well, obviously," she sighs, finally shedding her jacket, throwing her bag down on the couch. She reaches for a light switch.  
  
"Don't," Grissom says, and she freezes. Watches as he takes off his glasses, carefully putting them down on her desk next to an ashtray filled with the buds of yesterday's cigarettes.  
  
Before they finally crossed the line between fear and resignation, little over a month ago, he used to call her up at night; in the dark, the only light in her room coming from the street lights below. He probably thinks she never understood why he couldn't talk to her during the day, but she does.  
  
"I wasn't aware there was something to forgive," his voice comes from his side of the room.  
  
Sara straightens, takes a deep breath. She's afraid he'll see her shoulders shake with the anger she's feeling. She doesn't want to mention the promotion; she knows he's aware of the source of her frustration.  
  
"I would gladly accept your forgiveness after I have actually done something wrong."  
  
She expels the breath she was subconsciously holding in, scoffs because she can't believe he's saying this. "I was the best person for the job." Immediately she's chastising herself for saying the words out loud, and she takes two angry steps toward her window.  
  
"I know." His voice is closer than it was a couple of seconds ago.  
  
"I deserved this."  
  
He's suddenly behind her, first the heat radiating off him, stepping into her personal space; then his body pressed close against her back. "You don't think I realize that?" His breath is hot on the back of her neck.  
  
She stomps the ground like a child, and sharply brings her left elbow back against his ribs. He steps back, and she turns to face him. "You realize it now?" she asks. "When? Was it before or after you called me to pick up the pieces when Nick screwed up in court with the Mann case? Before or after you slept with me?"  
  
Grissom rubs his side. Sara hopes this one will leave a bruise.  
  
"The truth doesn't change," Grissom mutters. "Only its expression."  
  
Grissom has a quote for every situation, and it makes people believe he's witty and smart. Sara admires this ability of his to turn his biggest weakness into a front of strength and superiority. She knows that most of the time he has no idea how to react, how to deal with people at all. So he turns to things people have said and written before him, words that seem appropriate. It's safer that way.  
  
"Fuck you," she says. "I'd like you to leave now."  
  
His eyes narrow, and she thinks it's a flash of pain she sees there. She tries to enjoy her revenge, making him hurt just as much as she's been hurting since it became clear who had won the key position. But it just leaves her empty and angry. She can feel her throat constricting with emotion and all she wants is for him to go away before the tears start to spill. He's seen her cry one too many times.  
  
"Sara." He doesn't move as she stares at him, lips pressed together.  
  
"Go." She steps forward and grabs his shoulder. "Get out."  
  
Strong hands seize her arms above the elbows, pushing them back sharply enough to make her gasp. "Why do you need to do this to yourself?" he asks. Then his expression changes. There's something different in his eyes, something all his own. It's not just hunger; she's seen that many times before. It's something deeper, older perhaps, something that's not yet cultivated. The second burst of adrenaline that night sends her head spinning, and Sara realizes she's afraid. She starts to struggle against his grip, but he just tightens it.  
  
"Grissom..." Sara feels her pulse accelerating. He hasn't smiled at her since 'No', and when she reaches for his face he starts to push her backward, slowly but not very gently into the bedroom. "Grissom," she breathes.  
  
The bedroom is even darker than the living room; she keeps the blinds shut against the unrelenting sun. The shape of the bed behind her is barely visible in the weak glow of her digital alarm clock. She searches Grissom's face for some sign, and seeing the gentle eyes of her lover-slash- supervisor confuses her - perhaps even more than the tight grip he keeps on her arms does. The back of her knees hit the end of her bed and the next second she's lying down and Grissom is looming over her.  
  
"I think it's time you try to see things from another angle," he tells her. She's extremely uncomfortable for a moment as he turns her over on her stomach. Panicked flashbacks of victims' nightmares dance before her eyes. "Don't hurt me," she pleads, her words muffled by the bedspread. "Please."  
  
His movements stop completely, she can feel him freezing on top of her. Her arms begin to tingle instantly as he loosens his grip. He exhales slowly and her own hair tickles the side of her face. She wonders momentarily whether she should get up from under him, and then she wonders why she's wondering about this instead of just doing it. Finally, Grissom speaks.  
  
"Sara, no." His voice wavers. "I would never make you do something you don't want." He turns her back around a little, searching for her eyes. When he finds them he lowers his face and guides her mouth to his, never breaking the eye contact, validating the act and consent on both sides. "You can always tell me to stop," he breathes, millimeters from her mouth.  
  
Sara knows how to say stop in three different languages. In self defense training, they taught her exactly how to react to situations like this one, fast and effective. She can think of numerous things to say that would make Grissom back off instantly.  
  
She chooses to use none of them. Instead she closes her eyes against her own fear.  
  
Grissom reaches around to unbutton her jeans, pushes the fabric down her legs. Sara hesitates at the loss of contact, sitting up as he gently removes her shoes and socks, then she starts pulling off her long-sleeved top. A hand stops her when she's halfway out of it. Grissom twists her arms back securely, but not painfully, and knots the sleeves around them.  
  
Then he smiles. It's a warm grin, with a just a hint of mischief, and she knows she's completely safe. One hand finds its way up her leg, making the soft hairs stand on end. His hands could be electrified. Without hesitation, he slips a finger underneath the black cotton of her panties. She clumsily falls back on the bed when he slips first one finger, then two inside of her, and she's unable to use her arms to keep her upright. Grissom covers her almost instantly, not breaking their contact for more than a second. When his hand finds her core again, the other slides up her side, lightly teasing the side of a breast, then moving up to cup her face. She sighs, sees him smile again from underneath heavy eyelids before he takes a nipple between his lips.  
  
"Fuck," Sara hisses, unable to catch herself. Her head is spinning with desire, now. His must be, too; she thinks she can almost taste it in the air between them.  
  
His hand drops from her face, fingernails brush over a nipple. Her body responds to every touch, first sensitizing her skin, then sending tiny bolts of pleasure down to her very center. Grissom's tracing kisses on a path down her stomach. He stops just below her navel, and her frustration makes her jerk against her bonds. "Please," she manages. "Don't stop."  
  
Grissom finally obliges, bringing his mouth to the source of Sara's pleasure. His tongue is almost cool against her heat, moving confidently and with purpose. Sara's cheeks are burning and her head is buzzing, but she's aware of little else than her body moving to an ancient rhythm under Grissom's ministrations. She can feel her arousal reaching critical mass, knows she's close, so close, when he ---  
  
-- stops, once more.  
  
"Griss," she moans against the dark. When she opens her eyes, she's horrified to see him moving away from the bed. "What are you doing?"  
  
He chuckles, his back toward her. With a sigh of relief she sees him step out of his pants and shed the rest of his clothes. "Come back to me," she pleads when he's finished undressing. He lies down next to her and brushes some stray curls from her face.  
  
"When are you going to realize what a beautiful person you are?" he asks.  
  
Shut up, she thinks, shut up and do me already. Isn't it just like Gil Grissom to be silent when you want him to respond, and corner you with talk of beauty at the most inappropriate moments? She slides down a little and pushes up against his body. He's hard against her thigh, and Sara smiles in satisfaction. When she sees the look he gives her she remembers their power play, and she backs down. He pushes her on her back again, his breath warm on her face. He adjusts his position and Sara doesn't think she's ever been more ready for him. He inches forward. Then ---  
  
Oh, for the love of God.  
  
"Open your eyes," he demands. "Look at me."  
  
She wonders why he's bothering her on a moment like this, but she struggles to meet his eyes.  
  
"Who's in control?" he asks her.  
  
She sighs in frustration, writhing on the bed. "You are. Please..."  
  
"Look at me."  
  
Her eyes shoot up, and she's about to tell him what a bastard he is for drawing things out like this. Then she sees his flushed expression, the stress in his muscles caused by the uncomfortable position he's in.  
  
"Who's in control?"  
  
He gently pushes forward, and Sara's head droops slightly to the side. "I am," she sighs, black eyes meeting blue.  
  
Grissom holds her gaze as he starts an agonizingly slow rhythm. "I'm glad... you've finally figured that out," he tells her, his breath shallow and uneven. "Now, not to bring your promotion into this..."  
  
"Oh, fuck you, Grissom!" She doesn't think her legs would be able to carry her right now, but if it were any other situation she would kick his ass out into the street without thinking twice.  
  
"I thought that's what we were doing," he deadpans, and a suppressed giggle tickles the inside of her chest. "But you were right before, Sara. You did deserve it."  
  
She's silent. She wishes he would stop talking, too. Who was it that said men can't do two things at once, while women can?  
  
"You got the key position because you're the best person for the job."  
  
Sara closes her legs around Grissom's waist and pushes forward, causing him to inhale sharply. He shuts up for a full seven seconds. "Not... because... you are sleeping... with your supervisor."  
  
Sara smirks in spite of herself. "You know, Grissom, that would sound really convincing if you weren't inside me right now."  
  
He stops moving again, and for one terrifying second Sara is sure he will pull away completely. Instead he forces her to look at him, to focus on his face and on his words. "When are you going to start believing I keep the promises I make?" he asks her. "You told me whatever happened between us should never play a part in the question of you getting promoted. It didn't."  
  
Sara nods solemnly, looking down at their joined bodies. She knows she'll never be able to fully believe it. She knows Grissom won't lie to her, but he said it himself earlier this evening: the truth appears differently to different people. For now it's okay to have him believe she sees it like he does. "I know," she lies.  
  
Grissom takes a deep, shuddering breath and for a moment she's afraid he has seen right through her. But his eyes are smiling at her, and he finally starts building a rhythm she can work with.  
  
She doesn't cry out.  
  
Her orgasm hits almost unexpectedly, crashing into her before she even realises it's coming, and it's so powerful she forgets to make a sound. Grissom comes in second, moments behind her. He rolls to the side, exhausted and still afraid she'll break underneath his full weight.  
  
"I love you," he whispers. He looks puzzled when she gets up out of bed to turn on the air conditioning. She trips over the briefcase he left by the door. As she regains her balance, she suddenly understands that that's his expression of the truth, too. 


End file.
